The Lost Stars: Imperfect Sword (24 page)

Look how many are dying. I can see them, even from this far away, the masses surging against the obstacle of the fortifications and dying. Honore Bradamont told me that General Drakon doesn’t do that. He doesn’t waste the lives of his people in human-wave attacks.

It is a Syndicate mind that is ordering those attacks.

They
are
the enemy.

Marphissa touched the commands that turned her indicated points into targets for bombardment, using the six projectiles remaining. Only six, but they would cause tremendous damage where they hit. She paused, taking one last second to ensure she really wanted to do this, then touched the commands to authorize the bombardment and for it to launch automatically when her cruisers reached the right point. “Give me a vector to join up with
Midway
,” she told Diaz. “We’ll move onto it as soon as the bombardment launches.”

Two more messages to send. “General Drakon, I don’t know if you will hear this, but please accept this close-bombardment support with the compliments of the mobile forces.”

And, finally, “
Sentry
,
Sentinel
,
Scout
,
Defender
, you are to join up with the main formation as we swing by the planet. Take up your assigned positions in box formation one.

“We have a battleship to destroy.”

—

“WHAT
the hell does that mean?” Iceni’s tone could have sliced through solid diamond, but of course the image of Kapitan Kontos before her did not flinch. Kontos was light-hours distant and this message had been sent hours ago.

“Watch the different stars,”
Kontos repeated, as if he were responding to her question even though he couldn’t have heard it for hours yet. He must have known that Iceni would want the message restated. “The Dancers sent us that message, marked for
the symmetries of this star system
. I believe that is intended to mean you and General Drakon, since you are the two governing leaders here. That was the entire message.

“We have not yet heard anything from Black Jack’s force. I await your orders. For the people, Kontos, out.”

As Kontos’s image disappeared, Iceni looked at the virtual windows providing views of the many places where restive citizens were still gathered, waiting for either something that would calm them or the trigger that would cause them to explode. She had kept the police in their stations and their substations, guessing that with all forms of communication media shut down and no other stimuli provoking them, the citizens would mill about indecisively.

But that state of affairs could not last. She had to defuse the citizens. As soon as she heard from Colonel Rogero that his preparations were complete, she would find out whether or not Rogero’s gamble would work. If it didn’t work . . . well, Rogero had already said it. There wouldn’t be any way to try anything else except huddling inside fortified areas and waiting for the rioting to burn itself out.

Gwen Iceni had a lot of practice at hiding her true feelings and projecting what her audience wanted to see. That was a necessary survival tool in the Syndicate, where most superiors did not care if they were being lied to as long as the lies were the ones those superiors wanted to see and hear. It was also a very important skill to use with the workers, who would believe the lies because the lies held the only hope the workers could have, and the workers needed hope, even false hope, to continue on day after day.

Now, despite the anxiety she felt and her anger at those who had engineered these crises facing her, despite her worries about the fate of the forces sent to Ulindi and in particular (
admit it to yourself, Gwen, even if you never will to him
) worries about the fate of Artur Drakon, Iceni presented an image of calm confidence as she touched the command to transmit a message to Black Jack. “Admiral Geary, my friend, I am hoping it is you who have returned to this star system.”
Even though you haven’t contacted
me
yet. Are you waiting to see what I do about the mobs?
“We are currently undergoing some minor domestic disturbances, which I regret to say are occupying my full attention. General Drakon is at Ulindi, assisting the people there in throwing off the chains of the Syndicate. You will be pleased to hear that your Captain Bradamont has proven to be an exceptionally valuable resource in our attempts to both defend this star system and to create a more stable system of governance for it. I regret that she is currently aboard our battleship
Midway
, which is also at Ulindi, and cannot speak to you directly. I assure you that she is both safe and highly respected by the officers and specialists of our military forces.

“From what I can see, it appears that the aliens called the Dancers are returning home. I would appreciate confirmation of this.”
I hate begging. Why did you make me ask, Black Jack? I suppose you’re just reminding me how much power you have compared to me.
“They sent us a message directly.
Watch the different stars
. We have no idea what that means.” Would Black Jack? When last here, he had claimed to have only basic communication with the alien minds of the Dancers, but perhaps in the time since then, some breakthroughs had occurred.

“I am certain that our current domestic disturbances are the work of foreign agents.”
And perhaps some local sources. But who are they?
“I will be focusing my efforts on calming the situation here without resorting to Syndicate methods.”
Those methods are no longer available to me even if I wanted to use them, but I might as well present the whole mess in the best possible light.

“Please advise me of your plans. I remain your friend and ally, President Iceni.”
Don’t make me crawl! You need me, too, whether you realize it or not!
“For the people. Out.”

It would take nearly eight hours to receive a reply if Black Jack sent one.
Space is too damned big,
Iceni thought.
Where is—?

A special tone sounded on her comm system. Iceni’s hand darted out to touch the receive command and watched Colonel Rogero’s image appear once more. He was in a clean uniform now, but his sidearm holster was empty. “The ground forces have been briefed and prepared, Madam President. Everyone fully understands what the risks are, what we are to do, and what must not be done. We are ready.”

“Why are you unarmed, Colonel?” Iceni asked.

“I will go out there with my soldiers.”

“There has already been one recent attempt to assassinate you, Colonel. Did something about the event cause it to not register on your mind? Were the explosions too small?”

Rogero smiled in the face of her wrath. “I understand the risk, Madam President. I do have a concealed weapon. But I believe it is critically important that I go out there with my men and women, and I cannot look as if I am threatening my own soldiers by being armed when they are not.”

“Colonel Rogero,” Iceni said in her most even voice, “you do realize that, if our fears regarding Ulindi come true, you may be the senior surviving ground forces officer? That the future security of Midway Star System may already be dependent on your survival and your steady hand?”

This time, Rogero hesitated a moment before replying. “Madam President, I would not be going out there if I did not believe it was absolutely necessary to ensure that Midway has a future. There is an old saying that he who will not risk cannot win. I am certain that applies here.”

“What about me?” Iceni asked. “Will there be a requirement for me to risk in a similar fashion? Do you believe I should expose myself as well?”

Another moment of hesitation, then Rogero shook his head. “Not immediately. I would recommend waiting to see how things go when the ground forces deploy. Most of the soldiers are workers in the eyes of the citizens, and our officers are relatively junior supervisors. We all take orders. You, on the other hand, give orders. That’s how the citizens see it, so you represent the ultimate level of authority for them. If you decide that the situation remains in the balance despite our efforts, an open appearance from you at that time could make all the difference.”

“I agree,” Iceni said. “Make sure you do not die, Colonel Rogero. I shall be extremely upset with you if that happens.”

He grinned, accidentally revealing his own tension in the quickness and tightness of the expression. “I will keep that in mind, Madam President. We will move out in five minutes.”

“I will have media reactivated as you do so,” Iceni said. “I am assured that the worms and bots that previously prevented us from controlling what went out along media channels have now been deactivated, and we once again control all media.”

“Excellent,” Rogero said. “If anything we don’t want gets through despite that—”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that, Colonel. I asked my techs how many software engineers it would take to deactivate a bomb in the same room with them, and none of them seemed eager to learn the answer through experimental trials.”

“Well, that would be another hardware problem, wouldn’t it?” Rogero saluted, then nodded to her. “I will report in after this is over, Madam President.”

“See that you do.”

She checked her clothing. A nice suit, not the standard Syndicate CEO suit, which she had grown to loathe, but rather something that had no trace of the Syndicate to its cut and color. A suit that projected authority and power but not ruthlessness. Iceni took a good look at her hair and face. Neither was perfect, but that was all to the good. If the citizens needed to see her, they needed to see her as human, as one of them in some ways. Being a president had proven to be much more of a challenge than being an autocratic CEO, but she had already learned a lot.

Then she waited, watching the many virtual windows.

“Madam President? Should we open media broadcasts as scheduled?”

“Yes. Do it.”

She saw random patterns of reaction moving through the restive crowds as media access was restored, and citizens began searching for information.

The ground forces appeared. Not just Colonel Rogero’s, but all of the local soldiers as well.

None of them wore armor. None of them carried weapons. They wore their uniforms neatly, proudly, and walked with slow, confident strides as they marched in many small formations along the streets and toward the plazas and parks where the crowds were massed.

Iceni zoomed in some views, knowing that every media channel would be showing similar images. The citizens nearest the soldiers were watching them, instinctive fear and hostility toward the traditional enforcers of Syndicate control shading into bafflement at the lack of riot-suppression equipment.

The soldiers smiled and waved as they marched, small clusters of uniforms isolated amid the mobs. If the mobs turned on them, they would be swamped in moments.

There was Colonel Rogero, walking with some of his soldiers, looking as if he had not a care in the world.

“Everything is fine,” Iceni heard some of the soldiers saying.

“No problems,” from others.

“Do you need anything?”

“Is everyone all right?”

Iceni eyed the scenes, listened to the voices, watched various media channels showing actions and reactions. She let her instincts evaluate all of those things, let her next action be dictated not by cold calculation but by processes operating below the level of conscious thought. She had risen through the Syndicate ranks by reading people, by sensing their moods and their attitudes, and at the moment that particular skill told her something very important.

The efforts of Rogero’s ground forces weren’t enough. The crowds were still wavering, still uncertain. They knew the ground forces would be following orders,
her
orders, and if she was following the old Syndicate ways, she would not be worried about what would happen to those soldiers if everything went bad.

The people needed another push, another demonstration, one dramatic enough to finally tip the balance.

Iceni looked down, closed her eyes, centered herself internally on the calm, cool place inside where her emotional core lay.

She got up and walked out of her office.

Her bodyguards leaped into position around her as she walked, but Iceni waved them back. “Stay here.” She felt naked in her vulnerability, wondering once again what had happened to Togo, but kept walking with a firm, steady stride as the bodyguards stopped moving, obedient to her command but staring after her with uncomprehending eyes.

Iceni went up stairs and along passages until she reached the massive, formal front entrance to her governing complex, gesturing to the guards there to open the armored doors and stand aside.

There was a vast plaza before the building, and in that plaza a vast crowd.

She walked alone across the entry portico as media zoomed in on her, walked down the flight of granite stairs, and stood right before the edges of the crowd, only one step above their level, one woman facing a mass of humanity.

She wondered about assassins as she faced so many strangers with no bodyguards anywhere close to her. There had to be some trained killers on the planet, the same who had tried to murder Colonel Rogero. But such assassins were careful planners. They watched where their targets went and what their targets did, and they prepared with special diligence to kill under just the right circumstances, as they nearly had with Rogero.

Which assassin would have predicted this, that she would be here, in the open, where she never came?

For a while, at least, she must be safe from that threat, having done the unpredictable and the unthinkable.

All she had to worry about instead was the raw power of tens of thousands of citizens who could erupt at any moment.

Iceni smiled as the crowd fell silent. “Everything is all right,” she said, her words amplified through the plaza. “I wanted to tell you that in person. There is no danger threatening us at this moment. As you have seen, Colonel Rogero is alive and well, and I am alive and well. The ground forces are not fighting, our mobile forces protect us, and your elected officials remain free and able to fulfill the roles you chose them for. There is no danger to you from any of your leaders. Most especially not from me. I am
your
president.”